I’m often asked for book recommendations about France. I always hesitate a little — not because I don’t have favorites, but because the books I return to aren’t necessarily the most original or obscure. Many are well known. What matters more to me is that they’ve been genuinely useful at different moments of my life, and that they’ve stayed on my shelves rather than passing through once. These books highlight how food, family life, and daily rhythms shape wellbeing and life in France.
This isn’t meant to be a definitive list, and it’s not a reading challenge. It’s simply a small, lived-in library — books I’ve read, used, returned to, and thought about long after closing the cover.
French life — seen from the outside
Before I moved to France permanently in 2000, I had already spent two years there as a college student — first in Nancy, then in Paris. I learned a lot during those years, mostly by observation and by making mistakes. It was pre-iPhone, pre–online forums, and most things were figured out slowly, with very little context beyond what you could see in front of you.
At the time, I would have loved to understand more of the culture I was moving through. Books, magazines, and television were the main ways to make sense of a place, and I often wished I had access to accounts from foreigners who had already been in my position — people who could explain the unspoken rules and the everyday details you usually only understand after years on the ground.
Looking back, these are the books I would have wanted then.
The Only Street in Paris
Elaine Sciolino, a former New York Times bureau chief, describes her life in Paris through the lens of the Rue des Martyrs in the 9th arrondissement. Using one street as a starting point, she brings the neighborhood — and its people — vividly to life. What I appreciated most was how it slowed my attention. It made me notice the small, repeating interactions that actually make up daily life in Paris, rather than the bigger cultural markers people tend to focus on. It’s the kind of book you read quietly, but one that subtly changes how you look at a city you think you already know.
Almost French
I would have loved to have had this book in my twenties, when I was a student in Paris. The Australian author arrives after accepting an invitation from someone she barely knows and ends up staying for years. Along the way, she racks up cultural missteps while trying to find her footing in France. I recognized myself in much of it.
One of my own more memorable faux pas came years later, as a newly married woman trying to fit in. I once invited ten people I barely knew over for dinner and decided it would be a good idea to cook something “chic”: beef with aligot. I asked everyone how they wanted their beef cooked — several different cuissons — and made aligot for the very first time, only to realize too late that it had the consistency of chewing gum. The looks on their faces were unforgettable.
Reading Almost French, I felt a real sense of kinship. It’s an easy, enjoyable read, but also a reassuring one — especially if you’re trying to make sense of a country that doesn’t immediately make room for you.
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The trifecta of culture
For non-French women and mothers navigating life in France — or for those simply curious about a different way of seeing food, family life, and daily rhythms — this trio of books comes up again and again. They’re sometimes dismissed as cliché, but they’re bestsellers for a reason. Together, they offer a useful framework for understanding how culture, habits, and expectations quietly shape everyday life in France.
I enjoyed all three, but I particularly wish I had read Bringing Up Bébé while I was actively raising my own babies in Paris and elsewhere in France. It was published just a little too late for me.
Bringing Up Bébé
This is a book I could read over and over. When I first read it, much of what the author described already felt familiar — like French parents at playgrounds who seem to ignore their children entirely, letting them work things out on their own in a way that can feel almost Lord of the Flies–like to outsiders. It was validating to see these observations put into words.
What I appreciated most was how clearly it articulated my experience of raising children in France as an American mother. My children were born in France, so I had no direct comparison point beyond my own childhood or secondhand stories from friends in the U.S. The book helped explain patterns I was already living: France’s focus on the long game, on establishing habits early, and on structure rather than constant negotiation.
This idea shows up everywhere — no choices when it comes to food, bedtime, or getting up from the table while others are still eating. It’s also a portrait of motherhood that doesn’t revolve entirely around children’s schedules. This isn’t a how-to guide. It’s food for thought. And although it’s more than ten years old, it feels at least as relevant now as when it was first published.
→ Read more: French Children’s Favorite Vegetable Soup
French Kids Eat Everything
I loved every page of this book. The Canadian author recounts moving her family to her husband’s hometown in France and navigating daily life through school, the cantine, family meals, and social expectations. The anecdotes are often funny and consistently eye-opening.
By the end, she offers practical insights into helping children become less picky eaters, but what stays with you are the broader lessons about consistency, routine, and expectations. I’ve lost count of how many copies I’ve bought as gifts. Like Bringing Up Bébé, it has aged remarkably well — arguably even better now than when it was published.
→ Read more: Why French Toddlers Aren’t Picky
→ Read more: A Typical French School Lunch Menu
French Women Don’t Get Fat
I’ve never loved the title of this book — anything that brushes up against diet culture makes me uneasy — but the content itself is far more nuanced than the title suggests. From beginning to end, it focuses on balance rather than restriction: eating well, eating at mealtimes, enjoying food without constant snacking, and maintaining rhythms that make indulgence sustainable. Unlike the other two authors, Mireille Guilliano is French and offers an insider’s perspective.
What ties this book to the other two is the idea that these habits don’t suddenly appear in adulthood. Adults don’t “not get fat” by accident. They’re shaped early — by parents, by school cafeterias, and by daily routines that teach children how to eat and appreciate food. That’s why I love this trifecta. Together, they present health and wellbeing in France as a long game that begins early and unfolds quietly over time.
Cookbooks I actually cook from
What list of books about France would be complete without a few cookbooks? I have quite a few at home — some gifts, some I bought myself — and here’s a small confession: I don’t particularly love spending time in the kitchen cooking. I cook every day, and I care deeply about healthy, seasonal food, but my approach is simple. If a cookbook feels complicated or overly involved, I’m unlikely to use it. I may admire the writing or the photography, but it won’t become part of my routine. At least not at this stage of life.
The cookbooks I keep all share the same qualities: simplicity, good ingredients, and recipes that respect time as much as flavor.
French Food at Home
For the sake of transparency, Laura Calder is a close friend whom I met through mutual friends in Paris more than a few decades ago. Laura is an exceptional cook, but what stayed with me most was something she once said: if you buy really good, fresh ingredients, you don’t actually have to do much to make a delicious meal.
Living in France made this principle easy to understand — markets, fishmongers, butchers, and cheese shops encourage simplicity — but it applies just as well in an ordinary supermarket. Laura is also a wonderful writer. Her cookbooks are warm, witty, and full of anecdotes drawn from a life richly lived. French Food at Home is one of my favorites (along with Paris Express, which feels written for people who don’t have much time — or don’t want to spend it all in the kitchen). The recipes are elegant without being fussy, and realistic enough to actually cook from.
A Platter of Figs and Other Recipes
This is not only a very good cookbook, but a beautiful one. It isn’t strictly French, but I include it here because the author lives in Paris and the spirit of the book aligns closely with how food is approached there. The recipes are fairly simple, ingredient lists are reasonable, and the instructions are short — relying on seasonal, high-quality ingredients that aren’t overworked.
The photography is stunning, but what I return to most is the structure. Tanis often proposes full menus — starter, main, dessert — which makes cooking for friends or family feel manageable and calm. Unpretentious, but quietly chic. This is a great book to gift a foodie friend.
Guides I actually use
Guidebooks have evolved a lot since the days of Le Routard and Lonely Planet, when information felt scarce and precious. What I look for now isn’t completeness or efficiency, but perspective — books that help me see a familiar place differently, or encourage me to move outside my usual patterns.
These are the Paris guides I actually use.
The New Paris
Although this book is now eight or nine years old, it still feels surprisingly current. Lindsey Tramuta takes the reader through a more contemporary version of Paris, far from the monuments and well-worn tourist routes, and into neighborhoods, restaurants, cafés, and corners that feel lived-in and evolving.
I loved reading this book precisely because I thought I already knew Paris well. It nudged me out of my comfort zone and gave me new reference points in a city I’ve lived in for years. This is not a guide for a first-time visit focused on major sights. It’s far better suited to repeat visitors — or to people who live in Paris and want to rediscover it.
The Eater Guide to Paris
Part of a larger series covering cities around the world, the Paris edition was also written by Lindsey Tramuta, and her deep familiarity with the city really shows. The recommendations are thoughtful, well mapped, and grounded in an understanding of how different neighborhoods actually function.
Published in 2025, this guide is very up to date, which matters in a city where restaurants and food scenes evolve quickly. It’s especially useful for navigating Paris through food, without turning the experience into a checklist. One I reach for. When tourists come to Paris and ask me for restaurant ideas, I feel totally comfortable listing off a few from this guide!
For children
Because so much of what I write about centers on how children are fed — at school and at home — it felt natural to include a few books that help normalize real food early on and invite children into the kitchen.
My Very First Book of Food
For the very youngest, this is the book I always come back to. Eric Carle’s books were staples in our household. To this day, I can still recite Brown Bear, Brown Bear by heart, and our copies of The Very Hungry Caterpillar live on in my children’s memory boxes.
My Very First Book of Food introduces fruits and vegetables through bold, joyful images and rhythmic, playful text. It makes real food feel familiar long before children are asked to eat it.
Eat Your Colors
Also aimed at very young children, this book presents fruits and vegetables through color in a visually appealing way – especially for the little ones. I like using it alongside the Eric Carle book. Together, they reinforce the idea that food comes in many forms, helping counter the highly processed options children are often exposed to early on.
In the French Kitchen with Kids
This is the cookbook I had been looking for for a long time. It focuses on familiar dishes — omelets, crêpes, croque-monsieurs, crème brûlée — that children tend to enjoy and can realistically help prepare. Whether the recipes are French or not almost doesn’t matter. What matters is the shared time in the kitchen.
Involving children in cooking, even casually, helps them understand where food comes from and how it’s made. That familiarity pays off quietly over time. This book is a gentle, enjoyable way to begin. Here are some children’s cooking tools that come in handy for cooking with them!
A Final Note
This list isn’t meant to be exhaustive, and it isn’t fixed. I have other books I return to — some of which live in my Favorites section, and others that will likely surface in future articles. These are simply the ones that have stayed with me the longest, shaped how I see France, and continue to inform how I write about food, family life, and culture.
If there’s a common thread running through all of them, it’s this: the most influential books aren’t always the flashiest or the most prescriptive. They’re the ones that quietly help you notice patterns, understand context, and feel a little less alone while you’re figuring things out.
More From France
If you’re curious about how France nurtures healthier habits — from school lunches to everyday food, movement, and wellbeing — I share practical tips and stories each month. Sign up for the free newsletter below and receive my guide, The French Guide to Everyday Wellbeing, straight to your inbox. Merci!
